


Brightly as a King

by bittenfeld



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Mirror Universe, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Male Bonding, Male Love, Male Slash, Rough Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New - Chapter 2:  What happens when the mate-bond between Kirk and Spock gets tangled with that of their mirror counterparts during the inter-phase transfer mishap?<br/>Sensing that his own Jim Kirk is being forced sexually but futilely by the Mirror Spock in the other dimension, Spock realizes he must have sex with the Mirror Kirk to balance it out.</p><p>Notes:  This is the first of a four-part series, each dealing with a different pairing<br/>#1 – Brightly as a King   (Mirror Kirk / Spock)<br/>#2 – Affections Dark as Erebus  (Mirror Kirk / Mirror Spock)<br/>#3 – My Soul Upon the Forfeit  (Kirk / Mirror Spock)<br/>#4 – A Secret Harmony  (Kirk / Spock)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There were times when Vulcan discipline failed him. There was such a thing as pain at the deepest levels of self which was ineradicable, pain that not even intense meditation could touch. Pain such as that of a damaged life-bond.

Spock had tried meditation. It had done no good. Ever since the dimensional transference between the universe in which the Federation lived, moved, and had its being, and the alternate cosmos in which another Enterprise claimed loyalty to a galactic Empire, six-point-three-eight hours had passed. Six-point-three-eight hours, knowing that his captain – and bondmate – with a handful of crew, was trapped aboard that alien starship, while another Kirk with another handful of crew stood here in his place on his ship. Six-point-three-eight hours, while an alien Spock dealt with – and touched – a Kirk who did not belong to him.

Now the Vulcan first-officer of the Federation starship stood in the detention center with two security guards, facing across a cell’s force-field this alien Kirk, a Kirk with familiar face and stance, but most unfamiliar savage cruel patronizing demeanor. Hot mocking hazel eyes watched the exteriorly-calm Vulcan outside the cell.

“Mister Greene,” Spock acknowledged the security chief standing near, although his gaze remained locked with the glowing eyes in the cell, “please release the captain. I wish to speak with him in private.”

“Yes sir,” the younger man responded. “Do you want to use the interrogation room, Mister Spock?”

“No. I am going to take him to my quarters. Release his cuffs as well, please.”

“Yes sir.” And keying in a sequence into his computer terminal, the lieutenant shut down the force-field for the prisoner to step across the threshold, then unlocked the magnetic shackles.

Captain James T. Kirk of the ISS Enterprise stood before a first-officer who was not his own, and rubbed his freed wrists. Familiar lips pulled into a mocking grin. “So, Spock, you finally acknowledged the inevitable, you freak-eared sonofabitch.”

Vulcan control clamped down as tightly as possible onto the rage within Spock’s chest, as he brusquely escorted this alien human out of Detention and down the corridor to the turbo-lift. “You will refrain from making such comments in front of the crew,” he pronounced with as much respect-for-rank as he could manage.

The patronizing jeer didn’t change. “I’ll say whatever I want – I’m the captain of the Enterprise.”

“You are not the captain of this ship… sir.”

“Whatever you say, you Vulcan bastard.”

Spock did not trust himself to say another carefully controlled word, so he said nothing as they emerged on the OQ deck and walked side by side down the corridor to his cabin. For all surface appearances, it was a perfectly normal-looking scenario: the captain and first-officer engaged in ship’s business as usual.

Except that this time, the man in command-gold beside the first-officer was not the usual captain.

The cabin door slid shut behind them. Spock stood just inside the room, body taut with rigid formality, carefully watching the other man who very informally strolled about the quarters, looking it over, no doubt comparing it to another first-officer’s quarters on another Enterprise. The tall executive-officer did not wish to share his private area with this man, but he had no choice. He was all too keenly aware of that.

Kirk observed the collection of Vulcan weapons decorating the walls, then strolled into the bed area, over to the lyre propped atop the bureau, and carelessly plucked a few strings.

… _the gods damn him if he damages that_ … Forcibly Spock expelled the emotional thought from the forefront of his consciousness. Careless emotion would not serve him now, would not get the two of them through – get all four of them through – the situation which must be dealt with now.

Casually, negligently, Kirk handled a few more items on the shelves near Spock’s bed, then strolled back out to the front area of the cabin where Spock still waited by the door. Standing in front of Spock, he let his gaze travel obviously down the Vulcan’s body, then back up slowly, until it rested on Spock’s cold quiet expression.

“So,” the captain remarked, “you said you wanted to speak with me. What reason could you possibly have for bringing me here to your quarters, rather than interrogating me down in Detention?” The smirk remained in familiar hazel eyes.

Spock’s gaze remained carefully steady. He did not preface his pronouncement. “You are bonded with your executive officer.”

“Brilliant deduction, Spock,” the man who looked so much like his beloved superior officer mocked. “And I’ll just bet that you’re bonded with your captain, aren’t you? Yeah, I thought so, you green-blooded bastard.”

Spock gripped onto tightly-maintained control. His tone remained civil. “Our bonds have crossed and inter-connected because of the dimensional interphase. I know what is occurring right now on your ship between your first-officer and my captain. Through the bond-link, I can sense it.”

“Sure, my exec is fucking your captain. I can sense it too. And he’s not going to let your friend go until he finishes, only he can’t finish, because _I’m_ the one he’s linked to, not your little fag captain.” Mild exasperation played over the fair countenance; eyes shifted away. “Damn Vulcan couldn’t even wait for me to get back to him, could he? Damn, when I do get back, I’ll discipline him so hard he can’t walk for days; of course, I don’t want to hurt those hard little nuts too badly so he can’t use them anymore – I’d miss out on half the fun of our midnight exercises.”

Spock felt his own testicles tighten at the suggestion of pain.

“Of course,” the other Kirk continued, “I can’t fault the bastard too much – it’s getting close to his time, and if I’m not there, he’ll climb anything with a hole that stands still long enough. Tell me, Spock, is it close to your time too? Yeah, it is, isn’t it? You need it just like mine needs it. That’s why you brought me here. We’ve got to complete the joining so he can complete what he started.”

Spock would not answer directly. The idea disgusted him.

Moving a few steps away, Kirk reached for the hem of his uniform shirt, tugged the gold velour over his head, and discarded it on the floor.

“You will not undress!” Spock commanded angrily. “I… brought you here to talk.”

“You brought me here to fuck. So come on, let’s fuck.”

“You will not speak in that manner!”

“Sure, whatever you say, you Vulcan faggot.” The human moved back closer to Spock, to stand within his space; and Spock couldn’t move away because he was already against the door. The man’s body-heat and arousal-scent assailed Spock’s sensitive nerves.

The human’s voice dropped to a purr, eyes half-closed. “Only, you know we’ve got to do it. It’s the only way to get it over for your captain. Who knows, I might even like it… let’s see just how much two Vulcans have in common.”

Now Spock goaded himself into motion; strode over to the intercom on the desk and thumbed the button to Engineering. “Mister Scott.”

“Aye, Mister Spock,” the Scottish brogue responded.

“Mister Scott, how much time do we have until optimal dimensional interphase?”

“Two hours, fourteen-point-two minutes, sir. All is in readiness.”

“Very well, Mister Scott. I shall contact you again within the hour. Spock out.” He cut the channel, but remained hunched over the dead intercom a moment longer.

The alien Kirk strolled up behind him. “Two hours, fourteen-point-two minutes. Time enough, Mister Spock. C’mon,” – a nod to the side toward the bed-chamber – “let’s get down to business.” Then turning away without another look at the Vulcan, Kirk went into the bedroom, unzipping his pants along the way.

Still Spock did not look up. He felt his insides twisting and constricting. _Gods of Seleya, please! anything but this, please!... anything_. To touch a stranger’s flesh… _this_ stranger’s flesh!... Awful distress roiled in his guts, his distress and Kirk’s distress – his own Jim Kirk’s distress. Through the deranged bond, he could not sense his partner’s thoughts, but snatches of emotions, sensations, filtered through in disarray: fear, anger… hands upon resisting flesh… a slap… penetration, thrusting without release… futility… It had been going on for the past forty-three-and-a-half minutes now – ten minutes or so of fruitless work, a few minutes of respite, then ten minutes of work again, as the alien Spock sought his own bondmate within the distorted link.

Slowly Spock of the Federation straightened over his desk. He would have to effect a physical and mental bond with this Kirk, thus drawing him into the link with his own Spock, so that the atrocity happening on the other ship in the other dimension would complete itself, and so that the other Spock would release his victim and allow the transporter-cross of the two groups of personnel to occur before the interphase dissipated. There was no other logical solution.

Jim Kirk of the Empire lay sprawled back on the firm mattress in Spock’s sleeping quarters, naked now, propped up on his elbows, smiling at Spock’s discomfort, as the Vulcan slowly, stiffly, entered the chamber. Spock did not look at the other man in the room, but turned his back while removing his clothing. _Get this whole ordeal over with as quickly as possible,_ _please please please_ – unfortunately it wasn’t going to be easy, because Spock felt not the least fraction of sexual excitement right now.

Carefully Spock stood his boots by the bedside chair, laid his folded clothes on the seat… _delay the inevitable, delay_ …

“C’mon, Spock,” the achingly familiar voice cajoled, “the sooner you start, the sooner we’ll get it over with.”

Now Spock looked at his bed-partner: a smirking parody of his life-mate, this man. Mocking eyes met dark gaze cold with very un-Vulcan icy rage.

“C’mon, Spock. Fuck me.”

Flare of fire. Spock was more than aware of the human’s erection and his own lack of one. More than aware of renewed activity on the other end of the crossed link, slick ramrod thrusting into a tender abrased channel. How would he ever carry this off?

With a moan of pleasure, Kirk’s head drooped back. Obviously he could sense the other couple’s activity as well. His prick squirmed in vicarious reaction. “C’mon, Spock,” he moaned, “oh, come on…”

The Vulcan wondered which Spock he was speaking to. Oh well, just do it now, do it and get it over with. Forcefully he quashed all feelings of outrage, rebellion. Yes – just get it over with.

One more moment’s delay, to reinforce Vulcan control. Then he lay down on the bed beside the stranger, and reached for the man. _Just do it… do it_.

Kirk grinned as the Vulcan rolled on top of him. When Spock hesitated once more, Kirk appropriated control, clutching two fistfuls of black hair and forcing the Vulcan head down for a long hard bruising kiss. Momentarily the Vulcan resisted, then gave in to the obscenity.

Somewhere in another dimension, a human cried out a sharp little gasp against vigorous rectal invasion.

“C’mon, Spock,” a husky breath whispered into his ear. “Do it to me.” Voice harsh with arousal.

Hands rubbed up and down Spock’s naked body: flanks, hips, thighs. Aggressive, rapacious. It was not his own lover’s touch. The hands squeezed his buttocks, squeezed and separated, kneaded. _Force down the churning in his belly, force it down_. He felt the human body beneath his weight, erect little nipples pressing against his breasts, hard cock prodding against his abdomen; and he was all too conscious of his own soft flaccid organ squeezed between them. Maybe this wouldn’t work after all. If he couldn’t get it up, they wouldn’t be able to unify the bonds.

“Well, c’mon!” Kirk demanded, ramming his hard shaft against Spock’s unmoving groin. “Do something to me! Get that thing of yours up and shove it into me. Are you always this frigid? C’mon, move! do something!”

Mechanically Spock began squirming against the energetic body beneath him, undulating, rubbing his genitals against firm flesh, coarse pubic hair. He tried to will his organ to swell, but suppressed anger kept the required erection at bay… _damn his traitorous body and mind_ …!

Another wash of pain and fear across telepathic lines. His mate was crying out for him… _oh god, Jim, please hold on, I’m trying, I’m trying_ …

“Spock…” another Jim Kirk muttered contemptuously, “c’mere!” Rough fingers jerked Spock’s head down again, while other fingers clutched Vulcan genitals and began to pump. Disgust shuddered through Spock, although he no longer resisted. Then without warning the human bit hard at his jaw, his throat, and he did yank back. Human eyes flared in their own disgust, then a very solid human hand slapped stingingly across an unprotected cheek.

“Damn you!” Spock swore, wrestling the human’s wrists to the pillow. “If you strike me or bite me again, I swear I shall restrain and gag you!”

Mockery once more in hazel eyes. “Oh, are you and your partner into that kind of shit?”

Spock ignored the verbal slap. “Now we shall do this my way, and we shall finish as quickly as possible.”

“Sounds exciting,” Kirk drawled, hands still pinned over his head. “I can hardly wait for you to teach me all the erotic pleasures of the galaxy. You just make me tingle all over when you talk like that, Spock.”

Once again Spock clamped down tight control on his rage. As soon as this contact was over, he would definitely shower, but he didn’t suppose he’d ever feel clean again. Mechanically he began to masturbate. His present bed-partner was almost correct: pon-farr was close, although not yet upon him. For once in his life he regretted that – if he’d been deep in the throes of plak-tow madness now, erection would have been easily obtainable, indeed involuntarily obtainable. However, if he _had_ been in plak-tow, he could not have borne the despair of having someone other than his own mate in bed with him – and certainly not this foul-mouthed human. Momentarily he felt pity toward the other Spock in an alien time and space who knew nothing better, could never know the power of a pure loving pon-farr union.

Finally the rebellious organ began to swell. Spock’s breath quickened, although he tried to control it and not start panting in front of this man. The act would be humiliating enough without adding all the private intimate details to it.

Then the stranger beside him reached for his hardening flesh, took a good grip on the shaft with one hand, hefted the balls with the other. Spock moaned, partly in excitement at the touch, mostly in disgust; however he allowed the fondling. The human obviously enjoyed his discomfort. Mocking voice needled him. “Frigid as my bed-whore, Marlena, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Spock retorted, very frigidly.

Kirk ignored the snap. “I dumped her for my first-officer because I wanted to try out Vulcan heat. He insisted that we bond – like some kind of virgin demanding a wedding ring before fooling around. Seems he’d had his eyes on me for a long time. So I agreed to bond, if that’s the way he wanted it… damn he’s hotter than Vulcan hell!” the human swore appreciatively. His hands gripped Spock’s buttocks, kneaded them firmly, as Spock knelt between his spread legs. A careless swat against one taut hip. “Are you like that with your captain, Spock, or do you always act like a frigid little virgin? What does your captain see in you anyway? I’ll bet right now he’s getting the fuck of his life. Probably had no idea what a real hot Vulcan fuck is like. My Spock is a real good lay – and as long as he stays like that, I’ll keep him around.”

Disgust threatened Spock’s erection. Always in the past he had employed mental control to deny expression of sexual desires; now it took all the control he had to maintain the stiffness which would allow him to complete this grotesquery as quickly as possible. Even though he would be the dominant actor in this coupling, nevertheless he felt like a victim of rape. He wondered if he’d ever feel clean again, clean enough to touch the dear flesh of his own Jim Kirk.

“C’mon, Spock,” this other wheedled. “C’mon, be like my own Spock, put a little spice into this act, whadd’ya say?” A hand patted his face so patronizingly.

Fury exploded, lashed out, struck away the hand reaching for him, and almost struck the human full in the face. “Damn you!” Vulcan rage hissed. “You dare to desecrate a life-bond with your filth and vulgarity and shallowness. In past ages on Vulcan, such abuse would have warranted severe punishment, if not death! I do not know your Spock; but I would admonish you to reëvaluate yourself and your bond, if you do not wish him one day to forcibly appropriate all that is rightfully his!”

For once, human arrogance wavered, then attempted to reassert itself, and Kirk started to say something: “Who the hell…”

“No!” Spock interrupted sharply.   “You shall not speak again! We shall complete this now without interference, and perhaps you will learn what it is you agreed to when you accepted a Vulcan’s life-bond.”

   
 _to be continued_ …

_“A substitute shines brightly as a king_

_Until a king be by.”                       – William Shakespeare (1564-1616)_

_“Merchant of Venice” Act V, sc 1_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when the mate-bond between Kirk and Spock gets tangled with that of their mirror counterparts during the inter-phase transfer mishap?   
> Sensing that his own Jim Kirk is being forced sexually but futilely by the Mirror Spock in the other dimension, Spock realizes he must have sex with the Mirror Kirk to balance it out.

And then, as the human had reached for his face but a few seconds before to deliver a slap, so now Vulcan fingers reached for an unprotected face, but for an entirely different reason. Even so, uncertainty, wariness, hovered in hazel eyes, not entirely masked by surface self-confidence. But the human didn’t resist any longer. Perhaps this Kirk now contemplated the possibility of Vulcan retribution. He steeled himself as Spock’s long fingers touched the side of his face, as though anticipating pain but refusing to flinch.

Spock did not induce pain. He could have – very easily – but to do so would only violated his own integrity beyond what his mind and body had already allowed at this stranger’s presumption. Perhaps Vulcans in other dimensions did inflict pain, but the Spock in this dimension chose not to. He did not want to meld at all with this being beneath him, but obviously no physical completion would take place without it. And hopefully somewhere in the crossed bonds he would find his own Kirk, his own mate.

Then he relaxed into the meld, lowered his barriers, and opened up the transceivance, giving and taking simultaneously.

And was struck by a blast of energy which was this man beneath his hands. Sexual energy and command power buffeted him, not smooth and gentle like the communions with his own Kirk. And yet, down in the deeper levels, he could perceive a familiar similarity, even thought the conscious personality differed so greatly. So much like a dear friend, and yet so unalike. His Kirk, yet not his Kirk.

The contact wavered, shimmered, pulsated with sudden ferocity, then skated away. Like a transmission out of sync, out of phase.

Luckily his erection had maintained despite the physical and mental abuse, and now he would consummate that part of the joining. Lubricating fluid leaked from the penile slit; with his free hand he moistened the stiff throbbing shaft, then presumptively slid two slippery fingers into Kirk’s rectum.

Kirk grunted as his anus was spread open. Another grunt or two dissolved into a sigh as the two fingers manipulated him inside. On his own initiative he raised his legs up to rest on Spock’s shoulders; thrust his hips forward to impale himself deeper on Spock’s fingers.

Through the link Spock noted that the human was used to rough digital probing – indeed, demanded it. Images washed over him of another half-lit cabin, earlier memories of this man: two sweat-drenched bodies humping together in uncontrolled sexual release, giving and receiving pleasure… giving and receiving pain. Images of this strange Kirk… and an even stranger – bearded – Spock.

Spock gasped involuntarily at the visual suggestion, his first realization of his own counterpart; so, this was the man who had his Kirk now, taking him vigorously, assertively, futilely. Spock raged at the image even as he moved into position to take the human responding beneath him.

Then grasping his own penis, he pressed the tip to the wet orifice, pushed against the constricted sphincter until it gave, then the tight engorged organ pushed into the hot hole. And in the meld, he felt Kirk take him, want to be taken by him – _beg_ to be taken by him – surge to meet him.

“Spock…” the human moaned, but not for the man impaling him now.

Spock pushed in deeper, ever-more-vivid images swimming through his mind, another couple simultaneously joined in sexual communion in the other dimension, minds connected asynchronously, fighting the distorted bond yet insisting upon completion.

And then the intensity of the essence of the Kirk in this dimension flared up and spilled over the etheric images. The human’s body vigorously, violently reciprocated the intrusive Vulcan movements; the human’s mind cried out for a bond-mate locked in another world. _Spock, Spock… take me, damn you, take me_!... and still, body working for release; hand slipping down to pump an unattended organ, abuse it, brutalize it… _Spock, goddamn you, where are you? … fuck me_!...

But it was this Spock who took him now, taking one Kirk, and searching for another, tracing back tendrils of a tangled bond, seeking familiar warmth and love somewhere in the shadows; piercing the scintillating vehemence and savagery of the human mind occupying the forefront of the meld, while trying to sense the strong vital energy of another mind hidden back in the recesses… _where are you, Jim? come to me, please come to me_ …

He brought up his other hand to intensify the meld so that the faint outstretched tendrils suddenly surged brilliant in the dark; his organ intensified its thrusting within a hot moist channel… _please answer me, Jim, please answer_ …

And then suddenly, responding mental warmth teased the tips of searching tendrils, tentatively explored, touched, then raced back eagerly along psychic pathways to the mind of a Vulcan bond-mate.

… _Jim_!... Spock cried into the psychic union, but there was no verbal answer. Words could not traverse the tangled threads – just recognition and warmth; and Spock responded to it, mentally and physically. Sexual arousal climbed as his thoughts caressed his own lover, caresses given and received; climax hovered near, now that he could sense his own Jim Kirk; and in the deep meld, it seemed as thought he was making love to his own mate, instead of working between a stranger’s thighs. Excitement tingled through him, throbbed heavily in his genitals, and he rammed into the tight hole, feeling Jim beneath him, his Jim, _his_ Jim; hands remained on the meld points, but his mouth freely explored the familiar face beneath him, lips and tongue and teeth, _his Jim_ , urging the body of his bed-partner to climax… _please come, let it come, just let it come_ … fire burned inside him, the fire of need, absorbing passion and dominance with each power-stroke of his cock up a responsive ass…

… and somewhere else, another Spock knew that he would own this human beneath him now, own him as he never had before, take him completely and not be mocked in the taking, for once experience coöperation in sexual conjunction instead of battle and abuse; know the realities of a true bond – if only once in his life – with this most unusual human, a human who attempted to assist rather than antagonize; take him, touch him… now pon-farr would be completed as it was meant to be completed: with a sympathetic partner, if not his own bond-mate… and a bearded face leaned down to kiss soft human lips, human body impaled on firm swollen Vulcan shaft, tantalizing orgasm now building strongly, surely; human flesh yielding, channel hot and wet, anal muscles squeezing and relaxing around the blood-engorged intruder, squeezing and relaxing, extracting waves of unparalleled pleasure… orgasm building, building, so close now, so close… then the human rammed himself enthusiastically, deeper onto the throbbing penis, and orgasm erupted…

… four bodies in close succession, ejection of warm creamy semen, satisfaction entwining around and throughout four minds linked in a meld, pulsating… then drifting away, drifting away until it was no more…

And Spock came to his senses upon a panting human body, a human he did not know or love, yet all the while remembering seeing his own human in the arms of another Spock – a twin, dark and bearded. A stab of jealousy pierced, jealousy and anger that another had touched his love-mate.

And yet here he was with a bed-mate who did not belong to him either. After the wash of emotions, sexual exhaustion, enough logic resurfaced to dissipate the negative feelings. Jealousy and anger were not relevant concerns at this time. A necessary duty had been performed. The other Spock had had his reasons too, within the oncoming madness of plak-tow, and he had taken what he thought he needed.

In Vulcan quarters aboard the USS Enterprise, Spock pushed himself up from the sweat-drenched body on the bed. He chose not to touch that Kirk any longer, now that the duty was satisfied.

But that Kirk touched him again; reached up to clutch him arm, jerk him back down for a moment. Hurt eyes gazed up, eyes full of anger, pain, jealousy, envy. A tight whisper insisted, half as a question and half as an attempt to regain command of the situation: “My Spock still wants me.”

“He still wants you,” this Spock answered the unasked question as he pulled away from the grip on his arm, then added with cold precision: “You are his bond-mate. He has no choice.”

Hazel eyes moistened with pain; another harsh whisper: “Damn you!”

Spock did not answer, but wiped himself dry with a cloth, then retrieved his clothing from the bedside chair and began to put it on. “Please dress yourself,” he commanded politely. “You may wash up if you wish, then you will be returned to the brig to await the transfer.”

“Damn you,” was all the human had to say again, then slid off the bed and entered the bathroom.  
* * * * *

Another Kirk – his own Kirk – awaited Spock later that evening after dinner, as the Vulcan stepped into the captain’s quarters.

A swarm of feelings roiled within Spock as he viewed the smaller more-fragile human, and knew everything which that human was to him: captain, brother, friend, lover… life-mate.

Kirk was sitting on the bed as Spock approached, and once again Spock read pain and hurt in hazel eyes, except that these eyes carried no anger – just hurt and sadness for another tortured being. Spock did not speak, but stood there watching silently. No accusations, no recriminations.   A few bandages showed exposed above the captain’s black tunic collar, a few beneath gold cuffs: evidence of passion-inflicted bites and scratches.

Human lips pulled into a small humorless smile. “Forgive me?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Spock shook his head in surrender. “You’ve done nothing to ask forgiveness for.”

A shrug of shoulders. “But I feel that I owe you an apology, an explanation.”

“You were assaulted – against your will. No apology is necessary.”

“It wasn’t… entirely against my will…” Kirk confessed quietly. “It’s true that he forced himself on me at first. But then I felt his anger and frustration lashing out at his own bond-mate, so I decided to do what I felt was necessary to help him. Was that wrong, Spock?”

Another shake of head. “It was not wrong, Jim. You forget that I was in both your minds – did you not sense me there? – I saw his needs, and I saw you through his eyes.”

“He was a lot like you, Spock,” Kirk acknowledged. “In a world of cruelty and selfishness, your counterpart brought a glimmer of logic and sense; although like the rest of his universe, he saw nothing wrong with using another person to gain his own ends. Through a mind-meld with me, he saw what you and I have, something that’s lacking within his own bond with his captain. His time was coming close, and he thought I could take his captain’s place since I’m that Kirk’s counterpart. He thought he could experience what you and I have, but I guess he couldn’t. He tried to join with me, but consummation kept eluding him. He became more frustrated,” – a brief flick of hand indicated the bandages – “more and more desperate in his passion, trying to force a joining on me.”

Spock stepped closer, hands held behind his back. “Once a Vulcan has bonded with someone, he cannot consummate with anyone else. The link is exclusive to the very last detail of the bond-mates’ individualities, and no one else can replace either one. When I joined the link with his bond-mate, I found you, and through you, the other Spock; and only in that manner was consummation achieved for all… I hope you will forgive me for touching your counterpart – I did so only to resolve the impasse between you and the other. I could see no other solution.”

“Of course I forgive you, Spock. You did nothing wrong, anymore than I did.” Kirk reached both hands for his partner. “Come, sit with me, my friend. McCoy says we better not try anything strenuous tonight – and for once, I’m inclined to agree with him! – but at least I want to touch you.”

Willingly Spock sat down on the edge of the bed, then the two men drew each other into a long loving sensuous kiss of greeting; experienced the delights of each other’s lips, tongue, arms, hands, as if they’d been separated for months instead of just eight-and-a-half hours. But those eight-and-a-half hours had felt like an eternity – and indeed could have become an eternity if transfer had not taken place at precisely the correct moment without any miscalculations.

“Tell me, Spock,” Kirk murmured, hands moving over his lover’s shoulders, “was my counterpart anything like me?”

“No,” Spock quickly negated. “Perhaps mine bore a slight resemblance to me; however, yours was the antithesis of you. He was brutal, emasculating – particularly to his mate. He enjoyed inflicting torment in place of love. No, t’hy’la, he was not at all like you.”

“Then I hope that other Spock got a least a taste of what a real love-bond can be. I’d hate to think that a man like you would never know those feelings, not even a brief moment of enlightenment.”

Spock kissed him again. “Perhaps he had that brief moment through us, and perhaps that might even cause a shift in the bond between him and his mate. I do not know if such a thing is possible, but perhaps a flux has been put into motion by the momentary transition between our universes.”

“I’m sure a quite a few changes may occur because of the transition – and I’m talking about more than just the bond now. Your twin and I discussed a number of topics before we parted. Perhaps that universe will see some changes now.”

“Perhaps it will,” Spock agreed.

And then Kirk pulled his mate down on top of him. “I need you, Spock. You know, despite our four-way bond, I know he missed his own captain; and despite the similarities between you and him, I missed my own first-officer so goddamned much. Make love to me, Spock. I can’t take any rough stuff tonight, but please make love to me tonight, t’hy’la.”

“Yes, t’hy’la, I shall.”

And then willingly the two men intertwined bodies and minds and souls, and Spock made very sincere love to his bond-mate.

  
* * * * * **FINIS** * * * * *

_“A substitute shines brightly as a king_

_Until a king be by.”                       – William Shakespeare (1564-1616)_

_“Merchant of Venice” Act V, sc 1_


End file.
